


Countlessly Stubborn

by wickedrum



Category: White Collar
Genre: Emetophilia, F/M, Gen, Triggers, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26411533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedrum/pseuds/wickedrum
Summary: Set: Neal’s reaction to Kate’s death, end of Season 1 Finale.
Relationships: Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Kudos: 15





	1. Broken Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Unfortunately I wasn’t in the fandom when White Collar aired. It’s really regrettable because it seems to have been such a whump orientated fandom! Every moment where there was any potential for hurt/comfort has been exploited to the maximum. I’m late to the party so I think there’s barely anything left to explore in this area, but my muse likes to reimagine things and doesn’t let go.
> 
> Disclaimers: When I am writing, it's foremost for my own pleasure. 
> 
> Pairings: as canon 

Chapter One: Broken Hell

By the time Neal realised he could not run into the flames, he was exhausted by the struggling against his friend’s hands and the overwhelming emotions. Peter still not letting him go, the felon collapsed to his knees. He was calling to him, but Neal perceived his voice as being far away, or perhaps it was that his ears were damaged due to the explosion. Either way, he did not want to respond, he just wanted to stay in a heap while the world felt like it was crushing him and not letting him up. The voice kept talking to him though, kind and sympathetic as Peter thought it was the best course of action to try to keep him engaged at least to some extent.

“You’re going to be alright,” Peter cradled him tightly from behind, having given up on trying to pull him away from the smoke for the time being. 

“No, no,” Neal disputed on instinct, “nothing will ever be the same.” But at least he looked up to make eye contact with a dazed and teary expression.

“We should go, I’m not sure if it’s safe staying here,” Peter grabbed the opportunity, having connected with him.

“Leave me alone, I don’t care.”

“You will care later.”

“Yes, I will,” something else dangerous ignited in Neal’s eyes and Peter wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

“Come, we’ll handle it together,” Peter wanted his reassurances all of a sudden. He had almost lost Neal twice in the last while. The younger man stood up on his own steam, propelled by anger this time. Peter still had his arms around him, not sure of his reactions, so the younger man shook them off. He suddenly heard the roar of the fire over his own heartbeat, the smoke stinging his eyes and he backtracked on his own, refusing to acknowledge the smell and how a small part of it could have been human flesh. The screams silently continued in his numb chest.

“Please, I just want to help,” Peter tried to pull at him again to get him further. 

“Maybe she got out on the other side, we don’t know,” Neal moved forward this time.

“Please don’t torture yourself. You know that there were no doors on the other side.” 

“How do you know! I’m the master of disappearance and she was at my side for years. She would know how to do it too, disappear.” 

“Neal,” Peter pleaded, “the plane blew up. Kate’s dead. There’s nothing you can do.”

The consultant swallowed, starting to shake when having to admit to and face the truth. “You don’t understand. I can’t lose her. Then it’s over, it’s all over. There’s no point to anything. You don’t know what she means to me.” 

“Of course I do. She’s your weakness, the reason you lose your cool, the reason I could catch you.” Neal shook his head in disbelief and stared out at the wreckage, the full truth of it hitting him hard as if bodily and making him gag. Coughing, he rubbed at the sweat on his forehead with a trembling hand and Peter still wouldn’t leave him alone. 

“You see I understand,” the agent talked to him even more empathetic now, hoping to get through to him. “Come, let’s get you away from here,” Peter tried and Neal complied only because he could not fight so many things at once, with the tears, screams wanting to continue, emotions bursting out and an overpowering urge to be sick. The supporting hand remained around his shoulders as he was ushered away, head heavy and featherlight with daze at the same time.

“Is he alright?” Apparently Diana could not have been far behind. She looked like she was ready to take charge.

“Physically, I think so, probably. The bus?” 

“On the way, Boss.”

“I want him checked out completely. I think he’s calming down, but ask for a psych eval too.” Peter was about to pass Neal’s care onto his subordinate so he could attend to other matters, but for once it seemed like Neal was holding onto him. 

“What did you do? Does everybody need to be here?” The conman whispered into his ears, feeling weak with dizziness, his disorientation making him sick to his stomach. It didn’t give Peter much warning that his charge was going to double over and decorate both their shoes with a gush of vomit. 

Peter however only held onto him tighter, “just ignore that, these things happen, I know the feeling.” Though Neal wasn’t sure who he was talking to over another tidal wave of sick, Diana or him. At least he got the ground this time. 

“Tell me, got some tissues?” Peter was looking to help some more. 

“Yeah, is he okay?” Diana handed a small pack over, sharing a concerned look when making eye contact. 

“I’ve got it, thanks,” the agent paused a moment to determine if Neal was likely to continue being sick, then not seeing any worrying signs, he started on cleaning him up, the splatters down his suit, the hand the criminal tried to hold his sick in with. “It’s okay, I’ll stay with him,” he decided given that he still had to support some of Neal’s weight. “Do you think you’re finished?” He prompted the younger man.

The vomiting did somehow bring Neal more into the present, he was too busy fighting the physical sensations to be thinking of anything else. “Hey there,” the older man tried to catch his attention, “let’s go over to the wall,” Peter had long been trying to get him further from the burning inferno, “can you do that?” 

“You’re the only one here? I can’t see..” Neal was holding onto him.

“What do you mean? The smoke burns my eyes too. Or what is it? Something else?” The agent in charge was observant enough to take in the other’s jello knees, “dark spots? Darkness closing in?” He guessed, “hang on, it’s alright,” he moved his center of gravity closer to be able to support him round the hips better. Neal was amenable to being handled where he wanted him to go, but Peter didn’t like the tremors that went through the younger man’s body, his starting and stopping and panting. 

“I got some ice,” wizard Diana arrived back from somewhere. Together they settled Neal to sit up against the wall with the ice pack on the back of his neck, held there by Peter. “Let me see him,” the brunette must’ve had some medical training as became evident when she knelt and took Neal’s pulse at the wrist. “He will be alright, boss,” she concluded, passing on a bottle of water she had also somehow miraculously acquired. 

“I don’t trust anyone right now. I don’t want to go to the hospital,” Neal felt more alive after sipping some and realised he had lots to do, like go after Kate’s killer. 

“We’ll have the paramedics decide that,” was of course Peter’s answer, thankful that he could hear them coming along with the fire brigade, “at least let’s give them a chance to have an opinion.” He wouldn’t accept it any other way.

Tbc


	2. A Superior Safari

Chapter 2: A Superior Safari 

“You could use the passenger seat recliner to get more comfortable,” Peter suggested, “or I could get it for you.”

“I don’t know about you, but how is that going to help?” Neal was rather snappy given that he could not do what he wanted and start an investigation into the killer right away. He had however managed to save himself from a hospital visit and was only going to be taken home by Peter, who’s mollycoddling Neal felt of being of a quite invasive nature. 

“Going for open window or AC?” Peter looked after his needs further. 

As an answer, Neal simply wound down his window. “Do you need a paper bag?” The agent fussed further.

“Do you have a clean one that’s not going to make me barf?” The younger man snapped.

“No,” Peter admitted with a reassuring pat to Neal’s thigh, “but I can stop for one or whenever. Just tell me if and when.”

Neal groaned, the little movement they’ve made so far having already unsettled the delicate balance of his stomach contents. He sat up straighter to counteract it, but it didn’t seem to be enough. And why was he so exhausted? “Your driving style is not ideal for people who feel nauseous,” he commented on the stopping and starting amongst the traffic. 

“I’ve been told that before,” the older man acknowledged, “not just by you. You could have taken the ambulance, you know.”

The conman groaned his displeasure at the idea, but it was undeniable that his stomach felt more and more unsettled with every yard and the way he was adamant on keeping it down, it only made his belly hurt. “You don’t look very well,” Peter gave his assessment after looking over. 

“Did you expect me to look my best, under the circumstances?” Neal closed his eyes to see if that would help. 

“Of course not,” the agent squeezed the other’s shoulder this time, “don’t mind me if I talk some nonsense, I’m just worried about you.”

The answer was a gag that Neal managed to stifle with his hand that urged Peter to the curb. He didn’t even fully stop before Neal’s seatbelt was off, the car open and the tree by the roadside watered with whatever little stomach fluids that were left in the informant’s stomach. Peter only went round slowly, not wanting to crowd him, but as the younger man’s largely unproductive retching continued, he reached out a hand to tentatively rub his back, “tell me when you’re ready to go. There’s no hurry.”

“Do you have any water?” Neal sounded amenable to accept at least some help. Somewhat to his surprise, Peter actually provided him with a plastic bottle from the boot of the car. 

“Feeling better?” The agent hoped after the younger man rinsed. 

Neal shrugged, a little slower than he normally would have. “I don’t know why I’m still so nauseous.” He was leaning forward, one of his arms remained wrapped around his stomach.

“It happens. I’d rather you sit in the car notwithstanding, than fall over. I’d rather we get you home.”

“I don’t know anymore if we can trust my stomach. I thought I was fine to leave,” Neal sighed tiredly, fed up with his own body’s reactions.

“Sit in and if you can avoid being physically sick for a few minutes, we’ll attempt the rest of the ride home,” Peter suggested.

It would have involved too much thinking effort to argue, so the conman simply slid back into the seat, leaned his head back and rested his hand on his abdomen, idly rubbing it a little. “Doesn’t a busy man like you have better things to do than wait here with me,” he muttered, not wanting to openly admit that it felt good being looked after for once. In the past, as a criminal on the run, he could never afford relationships like this. 

“I have to. I don’t trust your judgement at this point,” his superior tried to disguise his genuine care. 

“Why? Do you often trust it, normally?” Neal mused.

“Nope. Hence the anklet.”

“You might not like it so much right now. It’s also covered in puke.” 

Peter did shrink back a little in disgust and winced, “you aimed it at it, didn’t you?’ He was half jesting. “Don’t worry, it’s puke resistant.”

“It also happens to be tears resistant,” Neal psyched himself up. He did not like how wobbly his own voice sounded. Shameful. He won’t shed no tears. Everybody will want to conduct their own investigations, including him. “Let’s go, I’m ready,” he had things to achieve before somebody decided his place was in jail again. 

The End (sort of)


End file.
